Disenchantment
by Raven's Wing
Summary: Everybody knows it sucks to grow up. -modern!fic, one-shot-


**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends. The last line (the only part in italics) is from JM Barry's _Peter Pan: The Story of Peter and Wendy_. I don't own it or any of its genius and I don't claim any of the references made to J.M. Barry's works as my own. They're simply borrowed and are well taken care of.

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**Warning**: PG (general angstiness)

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**Title**: _Disenchantment_  


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**A/N**: This is a bit I wrote for another fiction that didn't fit, but I liked the idea. Basically it' s your typical angsty breakup, or at least how they have been in my experience. I tried to write it generically enough that you would be able to put it into several contexts, but without skimping on the emotions of it all. It is my belief, that a break up when you are 15 feels the same when you are 55. Also, if you couldn't tell, I've been on a "lets actually give Sarah a personality" kick in my fiction writing (e.g. _Connection_).

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It's a strange thing - growing up.

"No. It's C sharp first - then E minor 7."

He's tired. I can tell by the way he holds his head in his hands. I'm tired, too, but I'm practiced enough to not show it.

"Like this?"

I play. He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his familiar hazel eyes. I'm not surprised.

"Yeah. Like that."

It's simple, but distracted. He isn't all here tonight and hasn't been the last few times we've been together. I don't want to know where he is. I'm not quite ready for him to break my heart.

His basement is cool, but not cold enough to warrant the shiver that shoots down my spine. A two year old boxer named Toby is sleeping at his feet like he always does. Sometimes I entertain the thought of joining the dog there just being content with being near him. Maybe I could attach myself to his toe and be like his shadow. Then we would never be apart. I hadn't held that fantasy for awhile now.

There are pictures on the wall of horses and old westerns. There are posters of rock and roll legends from Led Zepplin to Billy Corgin. It is such of mix of dreams, like he isn't quite ready to give up the wants of his childhood, but he can't imagine any other life than that of a rock star. I look at him and feel something that seems a lot like love, but I know that isn't right anymore.

Something has changed, but neither one of us are comfortable saying it yet. It feels much like when Wendy realizes that Never Never Land isn't the place she wants to be anymore and that no boy here can offer her love. There is a stinging disappointment in knowing that what you always thought you wanted isn't really what you thought it would be.

"Want to do something else for awhile?" The offer is half-hearted and so is his tone (a not-so-subtle way of saying that our music bores him).

"I should probably head home." My voice is downtrodden and my face must show it too.

I've gotten good at hiding the hurt of rejection when it comes to him, but you can hear it and see it tonight. The attempt to hide it is as lacking as his interest in creating music with me. Most times I could deny the feelings I have for him but I never could bring myself to deny the passion I had for the music. It hurts – a lot.

"No. Stay." He smiles and I almost believe him.

There is a flicker in that smile that reminds me of different times, but something still hangs behind his eyes. I can tell he is trying to hide it, but he has never been able to hide anything from me. A shadow lingers in those hazel orbs I've come to know too well, but I can ignore it just for tonight. It's only one more night after all, there have been many before it, and neither of us are ready to admit that there may not be many more. Tonight we don't need to think about that. Tomorrow might be a better time when we're both not tired and too weak to face the truth of our disintegration.

Tomorrow I can go back home from Never Never Land, but tonight I'll be his Wendy lady and tell him one more story. Either way I won't be going back to the nursery. If I stay just a little longer maybe I can hold onto my childhood for a fragment longer.

"Okay." I reply and smile back.

My smile is just as fake as his.

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It's a strange thing - growing up.

"Why do you always read that?"

He is strumming his guitar from a beanbag chair and I'm sitting on the couch across the room. It's funny how we still go through the motion of spending time together even when we are both preoccupied with something else. It's all for appearances, but who is there to impress? This is just stalling the inevitable. No one can stay here forever.

"Because it's my favorite book." I reply without bothering to look at him. I know the disgust I'll see.

"You read it all the time. What's in there that's so good?" There is a hint of distaste in his voice that lets me know he doesn't like sharing me with a book even though I'm sharing him with his guitar. We are full of double standards.

He's never read the book even though I got him a hardbound copy for Christmas. It remains pristine in his room collecting dust while my book is old with dog eared. Every time I ask him about it he tells me that he hasn't gotten around to it - but he will. Just like he'll get around to telling me that he's found someone else he enjoys more than me. I won't press the issue. The longer I have to accept this reality before it hits me - the more I can brace for the blow.

"There's more inside than I can tell you." I reply and I'm only talking half-way about the book.

I'm not even sure he heard my answer because he's picking out a tune we heard on the radio earlier. Two months ago that would have hurt, but not today. There are walls and defenses erected now and I am much safer behind them. He never even tries to penetrate them anymore. It doesn't bother me like it used to and I go back to reading. While I'm off to Never Never Land through the pages of my book he is lost in his own world. I know that he has left me though I can still see him, but I can't help but wonder if he knows I've left as well.

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It's a strange thing - growing up.

The phone is ringing and his number is on the caller ID. Even after all of the uncertainty and walls I've built my heart skips a beat when I see it there. I tell myself my reaction is nothing a three year old bad habit, but that's not entirely true. Part of me still wants this. Internally I debate over answering but I know that I will - and so does he. That's another habit I haven't broken.

"Hello?" The obvious hope that my voice holds is sickening.

"Hey Sarah. Do you want this book back?" It is brief, business like, and my heart falls to the floor.

"What book?" The previous hope is shriveled and gone now.

It takes a minute for him to respond. He's distracted by something. Possibly someone?

"_Peter Pan_." He says finally.

"No. I have my own copy. Thanks." I don't bother to remind him that it had been a gift and he promised to read it multiple times.

It's the end of March - he won't bother calling me by the middle of April.

I picture him on the phone with his guitar in hand. It is a strange hope that he is distracted by that instead of someone else. Someone besides me. Dark hair would be hanging over his eyes and long fingers would be feeling the fret board affectionately. Those haunting hazel eyes wink with mischief, passion, or frustration all depending on his mood. Though he denies that I could possibly know what he is feeling just by his eyes – he knows that I can and I wonder what I would see right now. Lately it's been disinterest, disappointment, and distrust. All are just as painful as the last, but I've learned how to compensate. One learns these things when they are growing up.

He'd always been my own personal Lost Boy and I his mother Wendy. Inside I know that all Lost Boys grow up to be pirates – cold and ruthless. Perhaps he has already reached that point, but I'll always remember him as the scared little boy hiding behind a very grown up mask. He was the most lost of all the Lost Boys, but not quite charming enough to be Peter Pan.

It was only a matter of time before he was lost to me.

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It's a strange thing - growing up.

It'd been a month since we had talked to or seen each other until tonight. It is amazing how easy it is to avoid someone if you really want to. I'd been the one to call it off, but it wasn't like he hadn't expected it. In reality it was a mutual break up, but easier on my pride to say that I was the one who say: "enough". It'd ended with an awkward hug and the hollow promise to "stay friends". We haven't.

Even though we shared the same circle of friends - somehow we'd managed to avoid each other without really trying. It probably had to do the fact that he was biding his time with someone new. I'd heard of her but I hadn't seen her until tonight. Like a knife through the heart would be the best way to describe it (even with all of my carefully placed barricades). He'd talked about her in the last month we spent with each other and I had known she would replace me.

And she did. She became what I had been. Had been. Bitter past tense.

It is tactless and eerie how much she looks like me. It is also tactless how you look my way before you kiss her just to make sure I see it (you really don't want to leave any room for question with her, do you?). You won't bother to introduce her to me, and I won't bother talking to you. This situation is awkwardly painful enough as it is and chances are she knows nothing about me.

My date notices. He knows us both. He tries to make me laugh and I pretend to in order to humor him, but I think we both know that the night is ruined.

The experience has left me slightly. Our game of make-believe and now the end had come, but without the popular 'happily ever after.' I've grown up enough now to know things like that only happen in stories, but not my favorite one. Never Never Land never held a happily ever after because you always had to hold a certain innocence for it to maintain its charm.

I'm afraid that no matter how many times I read the story in his presence he made me grow up just enough to never be able to go back to Never Never Land again.

"_...and so it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless._"

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A/N**: Honest constructive criticism is always appreciated.


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